Why Koreans Wore White for Centuries: The Culture of the White-Clad People

For centuries, Koreans were known as “the white-clad people” (백의민족), a term that puzzled foreign visitors and fascinated scholars. Across the valleys of the Joseon Dynasty and even into the early 20th century, Korean men and women dressed almost exclusively in white clothing, regardless of season, class, or occasion. Why white? Why for so long? This simple color choice was anything but simple—it reflected philosophy, resistance, spirituality, and national identity.

 

In this article, we explore why Koreans wore white for generations, what it symbolized, how it evolved over time, and why this understated tradition still matters in understanding Korean culture today.

 

 

The Symbolism of White: Purity, Simplicity, and Confucian Values

In traditional Korean thought, white was not just a color—it was a statement of values. Rooted deeply in Confucianism, white symbolized purity, humility, cleanliness, and moral integrity. These were the core virtues of the ideal Confucian subject, especially during the Joseon Dynasty (1392–1897), when Confucian ideology shaped nearly every aspect of life.

 

Wearing white was seen as a form of moral discipline. It reflected an attitude of restraint, inner calm, and spiritual clarity. In a world where hierarchy and formality governed everything from language to posture, dressing in unadorned white became a way of showing sincerity and self-respect.

 

White was also associated with mourning, and in Korean culture, mourning wasn’t limited to funerals. It extended into a broader worldview that emphasized respect for ancestors and the fragility of human life. White dress, then, was a daily reflection of reverence, both for the living and the dead.

 

 

 

White Hanbok: Everyday Clothing of Commoners

Though upper-class Koreans sometimes wore colored garments for ceremonies, most Koreans—especially farmers, craftsmen, and merchants—wore white hanbok (한복) in their daily lives. These were simple garments, hand-sewn from homespun cotton, washed in rivers, and bleached in sunlight.

 

White hanbok wasn’t a fashion statement. It was the uniform of hardworking, humble life. The constant effort required to keep white clothes clean was also symbolic—an external reminder to stay internally pure. Even during times of extreme poverty, families prioritized maintaining clean white garments, often washing and sun-drying them communally.

 

This collective whiteness made a visual impact: from hillside farms to village markets, the Korean landscape shimmered with pale figures, all dressed in soft, fluttering cotton—an image so iconic that early Western visitors wrote with awe about “an entire people dressed in snow.”

 

 

 

Resistance in White: Colonial Rule and Cultural Identity

In the early 20th century, under Japanese colonial rule (1910–1945), Koreans’ preference for white took on new political meaning. White clothing, once a personal and philosophical choice, became a symbol of cultural resistance.

 

The Japanese colonial government tried repeatedly to ban or discourage white clothing, claiming it was unsanitary, unmodern, and impractical. Propaganda encouraged Koreans to wear darker colors or Western-style dress. But many Koreans stubbornly continued to wear white as a form of silent protest—a way of saying, “We are still Korean.”

 

Wearing white became a quiet act of rebellion. It asserted identity in the face of erasure. It was not just cloth—it was a banner of belonging, dignity, and cultural survival.

 

 

 

The Labor of Wearing White: Community, Ritual, and Daily Devotion

Wearing white wasn’t easy. It required daily care, especially in a land of dirt roads, farm labor, and open fires. But this very difficulty was the point. Keeping white clothes clean was an act of discipline and collective effort.

 

Women often gathered at rivers to wash and bleach hanbok together, scrubbing, rinsing, and drying the fabric on stones in the sun. These gatherings were not just chores—they were community rituals, bonding events, and expressions of cultural pride.

 

In funerals, ancestral rites, and Confucian ceremonies, white garments were mandatory. Their presence lent gravity to rituals and helped create aesthetic harmony between action and setting. White clothing became a moving canvas for Korean emotion—grief, reverence, unity.

 

 

 

Why the White-Clad Tradition Faded—and Where It Survives

With modernization, industrialization, and urban life, the all-white dress culture began to disappear. Synthetic dyes, mass-produced fabrics, and Western clothing quickly replaced homespun hanbok. By the 1960s, most Koreans wore modern attire, and daily white hanbok became rare.

 

Yet the white-clad legacy didn’t vanish. It lives on in funeral attire, ancestral rites (jesa), traditional weddings, and cultural reenactments. In contemporary art and performance, some creators revisit the image of the white-clad Korean to explore themes of identity, nostalgia, and resistance.

 

In rural areas, elderly Koreans still wear light-colored hanbok for comfort and familiarity. And in museums or historical villages, the sight of a white hanbok fluttering in the breeze still evokes a sense of timeless Korean spirit.

 

 

 

The Legacy of White: What the Color Still Teaches Us

Today, fashion is fast, colorful, and ever-changing. Yet the Korean tradition of white reminds us of a different approach to life—one of mindfulness, modesty, and moral clarity. In an age of abundance, the choice to wear simple, white clothing was a profound act of discipline and beauty.

 

The color white, in Korean tradition, is not empty. It is full—with meaning, memory, and message. It reflects the values of a people who prized inner virtue over outer display, community over individuality, and endurance over excess.

 

To understand why Koreans wore white for centuries is to understand their philosophy of being. It's about how culture can express itself not through extravagance, but through the quiet strength of restraint. And that’s why the white-clad people are remembered—not just for what they wore, but for what they stood for.